


attic

by cosmicpoet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No P5R spoilers, Shuake Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Two years postgame, Akira and Goro live together.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 168
Collections: Shuake SS Gift Exchange 2019





	attic

Akira picks at the loose skin around his nails as he watches the door of Leblanc; it’s an hour past closing, and he’s waiting for Goro to arrive. Late, again. He’s late more often than not these days, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing - after all, two years have passed since they saw each other die a month apart from one another _(like lovers. like fate. like a second chance, perhaps?)_ , and there aren’t many things left that can play pretend any more. Of course, it had been a welcome shock to see Goro’s more sarcastic side, and Akira finds that he’s still learning, every day, what it really means to understand the truth behind the mask.

So sure, he’s late, that’s just how he is. And it’s just how _Akira_ is to worry about it, because he’s not Joker any more, he’s just nineteen years old, running his hands over the dissimilar Tokyo walls and learning how to breathe safely again. He feels an unwanted connection to the boy he was two years ago, scared to even walk in the attic of Leblanc in case his footfall was too loud; occupying space itself was a daunting, anxious prospect, and it’s not a place he particularly wants to go back to. Now, though, Sojiro is more like a father than Akira’s own family have ever been, and he feels like he fits in - like his heart was made for this place, these people, and he was just born a little too far away and out of sync. 

But that was back then - far, _far_ away, and his therapist has told him a lot about letting go of things that don’t fit into the latest game he’s playing to survive. And if Goro comes home late, then that’s a lot better than not coming home at all, a very real possibility for a few months of his liminal life in which Akira didn’t know that Goro had survived the engine room, after all. 

And when the door chimes ajar, there’s only the openness of relief that floods the whole café, and Akira with it, part of the fixings and the furnishings, all filled with the emotions of a home. Goro stands there, and _oh_ he’s letting all the rain and the cold inside, but how must he feel? Cold, and undoubtedly wet; Akira can’t even tease him about it because there’s no fair challenge when Goro looks so pathetic. 

Instead, he just ushers him inside and closes the door behind him, standing back a little as Goro shakes his umbrella and rolls his eyes, muttering something about _why the hell Akira had to send him out shopping in this weather?!_ Akira fails to mention - or, rather, makes the executive decision _not_ to mention - that he’d told Goro to go and buy vegetables over two hours ago, and that it was purely his own choice to meet up with Ann in town to get boba and crepes. Still, it’s a lot nicer than when everyone thought he was dead, and nicer still than when Akira had to keep it a secret from the rest of the former Phantom Thieves until Goro was ready to let them know he was still around.

“You’re daydreaming again,” Goro says, matter-of-factly, “and you don’t look happy about it.”

“Oh.”

“If you’re going to shut me out, don’t bother. We both know you’ll cry in bed tonight either way, so you may as well give me the courtesy of understanding _why._ Is it because I was late again? Because I texted you - did it go through? I saw Ann by that new crepe shop - you know the one - and-”

“Stay in, tonight,” Akira says, taking Goro’s wet coat off and hanging it up to dry. He pulls his own warm sweater over his head and tosses it, watching Goro effortlessly catch it and put it on. 

“One of those days?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. I get them too.”

“Thanks,” Akira says, walking behind the counter and heaping curry into two bowls. He hesitates, then gives Goro an extra spoonful, setting it down in front of him and continuing to stand. There’s no pretence in their relationship any more, and Goro starts to eat without waiting for Akira - they both prefer it that way, actually, and it calms Akira down to prepare coffee just the way his boyfriend likes it. It’s a ritual at this point, whenever it rains, or whenever there’s a bad day, or whenever Goro runs home after seeing the latest princely, red and gold, fashion trends in shop windows - they eat curry together and drink coffee and pretend that the last two years truly are a blur.

And maybe it really is one of those nights. The rain hits the roof of Leblanc hard, and once the plates are clean and the last inch of coffee in the mugs is cold, there’s nothing left to do except for Akira to lead Goro by the hand upstairs to the attic. 

One time, this room was just an attic. And then, it was a prison for a boy who made his way to Tokyo on the back of a false charge of assault. After that, it was a sanctuary, a hideout. And then it was an attic again, when Akira had to at least _try_ to go back to his parents’ house, and Goro was bleeding out in some engine room, or being cared for by doctors who were paid to be silent through funds cleverly hacked out of the account of the could-have-been Prime Minister.

Now, it’s a home, more than it’s ever been before. 

Slowly, gently, like there’s all the time in the world to take this whole affair cautiously, Akira lets Goro get into the bed first, and then follows close behind, closing the gap between them and shutting his eyes as he wraps his arm around Goro’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he says.

“You say that every night,” Goro replies, but his tone isn’t cutting or sharp, only sweet and full of genuine recognition, perhaps even slight awe.

“I _mean it_ every night.”

“I still don’t understand how you do.”

“Maybe you never will,” Akira hums into Goro’s back, “doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Ugh,” Akira can just _tell_ that Goro is smirking and rolling his eyes, “you smell of coffee.”

“Bad or good?”

“Good, I guess. It smells like your home.”

“It’s your home too.”

“Really? I mean,” Goro pauses, swallowing something that’s a little bit more than air, “you’re the kind of idiot, self-sacrificial hero who would have taken me in even if I’d threatened to shoot you in the face. _Again.”_

“What if I’d have _let you_ shoot me in the face again?”

“Don’t say that,” Goro snaps, “just… don’t.”

“I’m sorry. Sore spot.”

“Yeah.”

“It still stands, though,” Akira kisses between Goro’s shoulders, holding him close like he needs to remember that they’re both real, “that this is your home. You’re welcome here. You’re welcome wherever I am.”

“You sound like Joker. Be practical. If you were in Heaven, I wouldn’t be welcome. Not after… everything.”

“I’ve seen Hell, babe. Doesn’t bother me. C’mere,” Akira murmurs, getting sleepier by the second. Goro turns around so that he’s facing the ceiling and rests his head on Akira’s chest. Neither of them say anything, but they both know that he’s counting the heartbeats.

And the attic - just an attic - silently watches over them.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope this is okay :)


End file.
